


A Heavenly Touch

by Rroselavy



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 02:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rroselavy/pseuds/Rroselavy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the LJ Community GO_Exchange. Prompt: "Public!Wing molestation on a crowded Underground platform during one of London's rush hours. Aziraphale demonstrates how much of a manipulative bastard angel he can be by teasing Crowley whilst standing a few feet from him and keeping several people between them. (Wings are incorporeal but Crowley could still feel what's happening to them.) My undying gratitude if this somehow ends up in a hot and urgent wall sex."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Heavenly Touch

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Kis for the beta!

It hadn’t been his fault, really. But the end result had been the same; Crowley had been separated from his beloved Bentley as penance.

He couldn’t decide which was more shocking -- being forced to rely on public transport for the foreseeable future, or the fact that He required penance from His minions. Wasn’t penance by nature one of those pesky rules or regulations that belonged to the Other Side?

He’d have to ask Aziraphale about that the next time he saw him.

But at the moment, Crowley was steeling himself to get up close and personal with the human race. In order to carry out this sentence, he was determined to go incognito, which to Crowley, was all about accessorizing -- his preferred choice being a vintage pair of aviator style sunglasses. Raybans, of course.

The underground was odiferous, pungent even. And it was dark, but that was nearly entirely due to the tinted lenses he was wearing. Stubbornly, Crowley kept them on and managed the turnstiles with hardly a hitch. Negotiating the stairs was a bit more difficult, but he had by that time decided that his best course of action was to go with the flow of humanity and be carried onward toward his destination.

He didn’t like being jostled much, though, so it was with a Herculean effort that he did not incinerate the rotund businessman with a two-sizes-too-small derby perched on his head who kept bumping him along from behind. Nor did he scorch the businesswoman with a handbag the size of a small country that jabbed his ribs with each step, although if he did _inadvertently_ destroy the iPhone she was nattering into incessantly, he couldn’t be held to blame. Though, technically, judging from the crowd surrounding them that nearly broke out in spontaneous applause, it could have been tallied as a Good Deed.

Once he’d reached the platform, Crowley was pressed into the crowd much like a sardine in a tin and carried towards the open maw of a passenger carriage’s door. The masses really needed to bathe more often, or, at least, consume less garlic. A lot less. And, it would have been a good thing if they’d manage to keep up the appearance of adhering to the rules governing personal space, but he supposed that he was delving into the territory of unreasonableness, given that it was rush hour.

The door slid shut and far too soon the train lurched forward, and Crowley would surely have lost his footing if he hadn’t been sandwiched between two nondescript businessmen wearing ill-fitting, off-the-rack suits. Scanning around and between the other passengers, he saw that there were no available seats and, as able-bodied as he was, he would have felt at least a tinge of guilt taking one away from some elderly bloke or pregnant girl anyway.

Aziraphale was rubbing off on him. Or, perhaps he was just mellowing.

He made his way towards the far end of the car to stake out a bit of wall to lean on where he could sulk in relative peace.

The first brush over his wings seemed to be an accident. And Crowley would have dismissed it as one if not for the fact that his back was firmly planted against the wall. The gentle touch sent a shiver up and down his spine -- one that wasn’t altogether unpleasant, if he were being honest.

He closed his eyes and there it was again. This time the sensation was much bolder; he felt hands run the length of his wings -- from the shoulders to the tips -- smoothing out the feathers. It felt good, marvelous even, with the exception of one niggling detail: he didn’t know who was behind the caresses.

If it were either Hastur or Ligur -- trolls that they were -- there would be Hell to pay -- Crowley couldn’t abide their practical jokes on his better days. And, they’d already meddled enough in his affairs, or rather, one Affair with A Certain Angel in particular, and it hadn’t been very pretty explaining _that_ to the Home Office. Crowley supposed he’d done enough hand-waving and hemming-and-hawing to have glazed Job’s eyes over, and subsequently, he’d been summarily dismissed with the proverbial slap on the wrist for Wasting His Time (hence his foray into mass transit). But Crowley was hard-pressed to think who else other than a supernatural being would be aware of his incorporeal wings. The more pressing question at the moment, though, was who else would be -- quite frankly -- playing with them.

It was getting way too hot in the car, even for a demon. Crowley felt sweat bloom all over his body. He craned his neck and looked down the long, narrow aisle to see if he could recognize anyone.

There! At the other end, Crowley saw a flash of blond out of the corner of his eye. But when he turned his head for a better look, it was gone, most likely hidden behind a mountain of a man standing by the door reading _The Sun_. The train lurched, and Crowley grabbed the bar above his head to keep his balance. Unfortunately, the huge lummox was not so lucky; he pin-balled off a pole and crashed onto some poor bloke’s lap. Or rather, several blokes’ laps, along with a wizened old woman who reacted with a shriek and then began to pummel the poor fellow with a walking stick that was nearly as big as she was.

Fortune, however, was smiling on Crowley, because beyond the disruption he saw a familiar head of blond curls. So one mystery was solved, but it didn’t get Crowley any closer to his next question: why? The train pulled into a station and before he could move toward where Aziraphale was standing, he was gone. His absence was confirmed when Crowley glanced out the window and saw him on the platform. He smiled when their eyes met, then turned toward the station exit. And if that wasn’t enough to confirm Crowley’s suspicions, the wing caressing stopped.

“Dammit!” Crowley hissed. He’d have to get off at the next station and then wait for a train across the platform to double back; he’d never catch up with Aziraphale. Then a realization dawned on Crowley and he smiled. Aziraphale had shown some initiative and had done something that could be categorized as _sinful_. Well, at least it might fall into “unbecoming behavior for an angel.” Crowley’s grin widened at the further evidence that he was rubbing off on Aziraphale, too. That was a rather pleasant notion.

As much as Crowley didn’t want Aziraphale to run afoul of the Divine Being, this certainly had added a new dimension to their most recent Agreement. Furthermore, Crowley was now very aroused and that was most definitely Aziraphale’s fault and, as such, up to Aziraphale to remedy the matter. Already, Crowley could think of several ways in which Aziraphale might do that. In fact, he was so busy imagining Aziraphale in different compromising positions that he nearly missed his stop.

When he arrived at the bookshop, Crowley was mildly surprised to find the store darkened. Aziraphale didn’t answer the door when he knocked, either. Crowley paced back and forth on the sidewalk. It wasn’t unusual for Aziraphale to be away from the shop -- he never met an estate sale he didn’t like, especially when it included a library full of old books -- but usually Crowley could retreat to the warm recesses of the Bentley and wait kerbside. He wouldn’t have minded the seclusion of the Bentley at the moment, either, if only to take care of his growing problem.

“May I help you?”

Crowley nearly jumped out of his skin from the surprise and the closeness of Aziraphale’s voice.

“Yessss,” Crowley managed, turning to face him. Aziraphale was wearing an amused expression and holding an armload of books.

Aziraphale’s brow knitted. “Are you all right, Crowley? You look a bit peaked. Why don’t you come inside and I’ll set a pot of tea to brew.” He stepped past Crowley, then he fumbled with his burden momentarily before fishing his keys out of his sports coat’s pocket. As he unlocked the shop’s door, two books spilled to the ground. “Could you get those for me?” he asked, opening the door.

Crowley considered ignoring the request, then thought the better of it; he’d bide his time. It would be worth it. He followed Aziraphale inside, locking the door behind him. If Aziraphale noticed, he didn’t acknowledge it. He placed the books on the counter next to the cash register and continued further into the shop toward his office. Crowley followed him closely, carelessly tossing the books he’d picked up on the counter as he passed it.

“Crowley, please be careful with those, they’re first editions,” Aziraphale said over his shoulder.

Crowley closed the door to the office behind them as well.

“Those sunglasses are a rather nice touch,” Aziraphale observed. “Becoming, even.”

Crowley gave him a toothy smile; he liked Aziraphale’s flattery because it was so genuine. He took the glasses off and slipped them into his breast pocket.

Aziraphale rummaged through the papers on his desk and Crowley realized he was nervous. It was very appealing.

“Care to tell me what possessed you before?”

Aziraphale looked up from his desk with a deer-in-headlights expression.

“On the train.”

The pink that tinged Aziraphale’s cheeks was quite nice as well. Crowley’s nether regions agreed whole-heartedly. He stepped around the desk, toward Aziraphale, who began to back up, matching him step for step until the wall stopped his progress.

“Didn’t you like it?” he asked.

Crowley pondered letting Aziraphale squirm while he waited for an answer. It would serve him right, after all, because until he’d been sure of his molester, it had been unnerving.

“Well, you know, payback is a … er … tat for ti-- I mean what’s good for the goose is good for the gander!” Aziraphale stuttered until he’d found a suitable axiom.

“How so?” Crowley stepped closer, doing his best to appear menacing.

“B-because you tricked me into that-that con _trap_ tion!”

It was Crowley’s turn to be puzzled again. And then it dawned on him. He took a calculated step back, but not enough of one to let Aziraphale know that he was off the hook.

“I sssee,” he said. “But _you_ seemed to be enjoying it at the time.” The colour on Aziraphale’s face deepened to a crimson, which only reminded Crowley of the delectable colour the crown of Aziraphale’s leather-encased shaft had turned. He’d made the most exquisite sounds, too, especially when Crowley had teased it with feather-like touches. And, to be fair, Crowley hadn’t allowed Aziraphale suffer _too_ much, although he had let him beg for a tiny bit -- mere seconds! “And I’m certain you enjoyed how I relieved you.” He moved in again, close enough to catch a whiff of Aziraphale’s aftershave lotion. It had a dryness to it that reminded Crowley of the old books Aziraphale coveted along with an undertone of pressed lilacs, and on anyone else it would have smelled rather frumpy, but it was intoxicating just the same.

“So getting back to what you could help me with,” he breathed, “It seems I’ve been left with a slight … problem. And it’s all your fault.” Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and pressed it against the prominent bulge in his pants. It felt heavenly.

“Ohh …” Aziraphale nuzzled Crowley then nibbled his ear lobe. At the same time his hand began to rub lazily. “We could get more comfortable.” They were only steps from Aziraphale’s room, and his bed was huge and positively decadent.

“Mmm, I’m not looking for comfort,” Crowley murmured before covering Aziraphale’s mouth with his.

Crowley wanted to take his time; even though they’d known each other for several millennia, this aspect of their relationship was quite new, and he was still learning about things Aziraphale liked -- kissing, soft caresses, light bondage -- and things he didn’t. Come to think of it, he had yet to find something Aziraphale was averse to, or rather, averse to _trying_ out. Who knew angels could be so kinky?

He pinned Aziraphale against the wall, pressing the length of his body against his. Crowley thrust his hips into the oh-so-not-enough friction Aziraphale created with his hand trapped that was between them. When Aziraphale began to stroke his wings again just like he had underground, Crowley knew he wouldn’t be able to hang on for very long -- certainly not long enough to divest Aziraphale of his clothes and properly take him (right here, right now, up against the wall). He groaned into the kiss, hoping it would sufficiently transmit how good Aziraphale was making him feel.

He felt Aziraphale’s free hand skim over the contour of his ass and then grip it tightly, forcefully restraining his movements. The aggressiveness sent Crowley over the edge and he whimpered -- _whimpered!?!_ \-- as he came. Oh, damn it all, he practically came _apart_. He leaned heavily on Aziraphale as waves of pleasure wracked his body. Crowley pressed his face into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and attempted to regain his composure while Aziraphale cradled him gently in his arms.

“Crowley? … Crowley?! … _Crowley_! “ Aziraphale said softly but with some urgency.

“What is it?” Crowley asked, his lips moving against Aziraphale’s skin.

“It appears that now I have a problem.”

Crowley grinned. This time they would get more comfortable.


End file.
